A Freak Like Me
by ExtraordinaryWeirdo
Summary: A kid wondering in the Narrows, lost and broken both in body and mind. Who's there to turn to when all hopes are lost and there's nothing to cling onto? "Now now… everybody sit back for ah mo-ment. It's time for a bed time story. I wantcha all to close your eyes aaand... no peeking. "
1. Prologue

Prologue

Now now… everybody _siiiit_ back for ah mo-ment. It's time for a _bed_ time story. I wantcha all to close your eyes for that _aaand_ no _peeking._

You live in a small town, perhaps no town at all, out in the countryside. You know your neighbors. _Nice_ people, who would look you in the eye, nodding their heads when they're passing by, they _smile_ no matter how far away they might be. They _care_. They _seem_ to…ah care, whenever you need help, they're there. Now close your eyes. Listen. What do _you_ hear?

Do you hear birds _chirping_ or the crickets _chir-ruping_? A rustle of leaves maybe as the breeze picks them _u-p_? Do you hear little children playing in the yard? Happy without a care in the world. _Free._ Do you feel it too? The smell of almonds and vanilla beans, lemon, pepper mint? _Chocolate?_ Mommy's probably baking something _de-licious_. Father's sitting on his rocking chair, smoking and nodding your head at you, a gesture of _assurance_ as if he wants to go bear haunting with _ya._

But then something strikes ya. You open your eyes and you're not in the _countryside_ anymore. You're back in your city. _Gotham City_. You live in a house that your daddy had rent from someone he'd never met. Listen: above the ever-present traffic, an _ex-plosion_. Probably just a car backfiring. Or kids, playing with firecrackers. They're probably harassing some old man? Or is it ah _gunfire_? When you awake tomorrow morning, will there be a _dead_ man on the steps to your apartment? Probably.

Now, no more than a few doors down, breaking glass, hear it? just someone dropping a beer bottle in their garbage. Or… a car window breaking… or ah house window. Listen next to the _squeeeal_ of braking tires. Perhaps a crash comes, perhaps it doesn't. Footsteps. Is it someone walking pass the sidewalk? Is your housemate home? Is it just some homeless guy taking a piss in the three-foot alley between your apartment and the next? Some woman squatting where the bush used to be in front of the house next door? Neigbours just got tired of her hiding in their shrubbery and taking shit, so they cut it down… and she keeps right on doing it in the open where the shrubbery used to be. Now there this… ah low-flying jet and you don't know what's going on because you can't hear _any-thing_ over the _roar._ And when the roar dies down, a helicopter flies low over your apartment. It sounds like it's making an alley run right between your apartment and the neighboring apartment.

These are the sounds of…ah your city. Every night, _eeevery_ day, every night, you… _hear'em._ And _you_ just ignore them. Most people do. They drown them out with music, with headphones, earplugs anything to let their _brain_ stop processing. That's what the seven year old boy living down the alley did _when-ever_ he heard staggered footsteps coming down the hallway, the sound of heavy boots.

 _Thud. Thud. Thud_

* * *

WMWMWMWMWMW

 _September 19th, 1983. 12:30 AM_

The key turning in the rusty door lock, the sound that preceded it all.

"Why the fuck is this bloody house so cold?" The sound of a drunken man's voice, that he hated to call father, echoed in the bare hallway outside the little boy's door.

He knew he had to keep the lights off and pretend to be asleep. He knew he would beat him to death if he got the chance. He always had an excuse for that. Last time he ended up at a hospital with a broken head and some fractured ribs. He still had bruises all over and it still hurt whenever he touched them.

"Where the fuck are you bitch? Why can't you keep a fucking heater on?"

He heard noises in the room next door as the walls were paper-thin. She was moving around, slowly, woken from sleep, resigned to her fate.

He heard the song on his father's lips, out of tune and slurred.

"How was your night dear?" Her voice sounded timid and far away as always.

"What do you care? The house is fucking freezing, what have you been doing all night? "

"Your coffee's in the oven if you want it."

"Why would I want it after it's dried out in the oven? It'll taste like shit!"

The sound of bottles clinked in a crate through the walls. " I'll have to made do with one of these." He heard his father say.

"Ok love, I'll go back to bed now if that's alright? I'm just so tired."

The anticipation was giving him butterflies. Maybe it would be different tonight, he thought.

"Sit down", the drunken anger in his father's voice made him jump in the darkness of his room. "Keep me company; you never talk to me anymore. It makes me feel like you don't want me."

 _Silence…_

he could feel the sound of his heart pounding against his chest. He prayed that his father had somehow passed out. Then the night would simply end and his father would wake up with nothing more than a headache. The monster would be gone. It had happened several times before, usually around the holidays or when his father came home after a night of drinking with his policeman buddies.

But the sound of glass breaking broke the short silence and he heard a chair crashing onto the floor, wood splintering.

"I said sit the fuck down."

His mother's stifled scream signified the beginning. He hid under his blankets, too scared to get out of the bed to look for his Walkman. To block out the screams to forget where he was, to lose himself in something he couldn't comprehend but… the cries came through the walls; the walls shuddered with the impact. Then the noises stirred dark pictures in his mind, pictures that frightened him more than the actions. He had to see now, to block out the horrifying images in his mind; he had to see with his own eyes.

So He crawled out of bed, opening the door slowly; the hallway was dark. The only light was coming from the kitchen. The light inside flickering as the bulb swung on its cord.

Crying and cursing, anger and emotion poured out into the hallway in great big puddles of blood, the images in his mind distorting the reality. He followed a trail of blood leading to the kitchen, bloody handprints smudged around the walls and the coffee table.

A shadow passed from his eyes, falling across the open kitchen door, then he saw a body fall. His mother was lying on the floor, Her face covered in blood. His father stood over her, his eyes now facing the darkness in _his_ head.

The eyes that told him it is his turn now as they looked back at a mother with no love.

He tried to melt back into the darkness, being the same with it to hide: _maybe he won't see_ , he thought.

He heard the sound of bottles clinking in a crate, a reprieve if only for a while. _Go back to bed_ , he thought. Get some sleep and get up in the morning, it will be okay in the morning.

He knew when he got up that song would be on the radio, the same one she always played. The tune was stuck in his head, the one that let him forget where he was.

 _Don't cry…_

Father hates any sign of weakness.


	2. Step One

_**1**_

They were all over the news the next _mor-ning_. Such big _tra-gedy_ for Gotham City, it was. Of course people would talk about it for days, because you know what? _People. Care_. People absolutely have ah… sympathy for _' Thomas and Martha Wayne killed in a shooting outside of a theater '_. _Eeeeverybody's_ going to feel sorry for their little _un-grateful brat!_ He has ended up being an orphan after all. Who wants to live in ah huge manor alone, anyway? It might get a little _s-pooky_ at night. Shame that their ah… loyal _\- as the news say-_ butler is there to care for him.

See, No one then really has time for one little small-timer being torn into a thousand ti-ny pieces by her _cop_ husband in the Narrows. One ah… insignificant woman being buried late at night by her own son, wasn't a problem. No…no it _wasn't_.

But that is… not the case… no not really. The thing is these _civi-lized_ people, they needed to be _jol-ted_. Whether it was the death of two important um… _high-end_ people. Or just ah… _no-body._ Well at least that is … aHa…a side effect of explosions anyway.

Aha-Ha-Ha-He-Ho-Ha

* * *

WMWMWMWMW

 _September 20th, 1983. 8:30 AM_

"Police are conducting a double homicide investigation on the east side of Gotham City where the bodies were found outside the theater, Sunday night. Police were called to the 3000 block of North Gladstone Avenue, near 30th Street and North Gladstone Avenue, just after 7 . When someone called to report a sound of gunfire, just after 6 p.m. officers made the gruesome discovery after canvassing the area. They found the bodies of Thomas and Martha Wayne in the 2900 block of Gladstone."

"Gruesome? Can you believe this shit? " Father scoffed, turning off the TV as he popped a potato chip into his mouth. While chewing and swallowing, he picked up another sandwich triangle. He ate like a bear as if he was celebrating something. _Was he celebrating something?_ He wondered. But he was used to a big breakfast anyway, always making the poor wide to scramble six eggs at least every morning. And today? Why would today be an exception? Good thing she wasn't around anymore. Good thing she didn't have to put up with him anymore. He thought.

"Hey Jackie boy, bring me that beer, will ya?" The little boy stared at him in response as he got into a conflict with himself inside. He shouldn't have stared. _Father hates stares_. But he couldn't stop it. He just gave him one of those unreadable stares. One of those not even his own mother could comprehend what he was thinking. He wasn't particularly mad. _Maybe he was_. But maybe he was scared. So much scared and angry that he just couldn't think straight.

"Hey! Ya deaf?!"

Father loved his morning beer to be on the table, ready and cold. Even in the winter he would drink it up without a haze. But the little boy didn't plan on giving him what he wanted that morning and he might have just committed his biggest mistake. Father's happy mood, soon turned way too down as he caught him staring without moving, without doing as father said.

"Am I not talkin to ya, you little shit?" He said in a threatening tone, not loud not too high pitched but dangerous and low. He stood up from his chair. His body, convulsing, his fists clenching at his sides. His jaw stopped moving, stopped chewing and it got all tensed like it would break anytime now. He wished it would. And then he looked at him straight in the eye with fury and hatred smoldering in his small narrowed eyes. The little boy realized then that his heart was racing, that he was not angry, not mad but scared. It took him sometime to notice the fear but when he felt it, it struck him like a lightening. And it was late for that. Too late.

He didn't have time to run when his father lunged at him, grabbed him by the throat and shoved him against the wall, choking the little boy. He could barely breath and his head hit the corner so hard that his scalp started to bleed. He never understood how a man like him so thin and sickly looking had such strength. Then again maybe _he_ was the weak one. He was only a child after all. But even that didn't stopped the man from punching him in the stomach so hard that he felt like he got the wind knocked out of him.

"Ya fucking little shit tryna test me?" He snarled, spitting all over his face. " Ya wanna end up like ya whore mother?" He dragged him up to his height by the collar with one hand and gave him another punch into the face, right under his left eye and it tore the skin. Blood streamed down the boy's face and it poured all over the man's pale knuckle, only then he stopped. He didn't let him go but he stopped to close his eyes and gasp for air.

His body ached all over. He didn't know how it was to bleed internally but he felt like his inside burnt like he was on fire and he couldn't move. His father was still clinging onto his collar. It wasn't anything new. The beating, the bleeding. He had scars all over. You might think you'll use to the pain after a while but as the old wounds reopen you will bleed more and more and … more and there's no stopping to it. It doesn't kill you though. No… it won't kill you and that is perhaps… the misery of it. At least before there was someone to stop the monster from lashing out. But now...

he was truly alone.

As the little boy thought it wasn't going to be any worse, the cop pulled out a knife. His special pocket knife he always boosted about how it had helped him arrest oh too many rapists and thieves and murderers- criminals. He would have laughed at the memory, he felt like giggling but he stifled it immediately. The father would always say it was handier, better than any other weapon in the whole department to fight the- crime! But the little boy's heart stopped for a second at the sight of it. It was also the knife that killed the mother. _But was it really?_ Or was it his mind playing tricks on him again. He swallowed a bloody knot in his throat and stared at the blade.

Father started swinging it before his eyes without a care. " Remember this son," a smile crept on his lips. "Remember this and me," he said, nodding as his fingers clenched on the little boy's jaw, trying to pry his mouth open. "If ya try me again, I will have ta carve my name inside your mouth with this." He stuck the blood in the corner of the boy's mouth and the little boy's eyes went wide." So ya know who you're belong to. So ya know who gave you, ya name. Am I clear, Jackie boy?"

And how much he hated _that name_. But hatred wasn't what he was feeling at that moment. It was something else. Something more haunting. More thrilling. His eyes shifted on the blade in his mouth. Now scared to move his head, scared to even say a word. He knew the father was serious. and he saw the blade moved a little further in the corner, into his flesh and it stung. It stung like nothing he felt before. That was when he thought he had to stop the pain somehow that it wasn't something he wanted to fight. So he blinked in response in hopes of him letting go and the father didn't disappoint. The father might have gotten his answer because satisfied, he pulled the blade out and let him go, at last.

"Clean yourself up and run to school like any normal day," The father turned on his heels, shoving the pocket knife back into his pocket. " I don't want no trouble. " _I'm bleeding_ , he wanted to say. But thought better of it, standing up on his shaking legs he ran outside before the father turns back or changes his mind.

 _You don't mess with freaks with knives_ , that was a lesson he learned from his father that day.

* * *

 _It'd be amazing if you guys... I don't know... review?_


	3. Step Two

_**2**_

 _September 20th, 1983. 9:00 AM_

 _Run Forrest… run._

Run so that your lungs empty out of oxygen, so that they fill with hot smoke until a trigger comes and they burn, until you can't breathe anymore. Run so that the monsters wouldn't catch you, would never find you. Run, so the only music in your ears would be the pounding of your veins throbbing in your head.

 _Run. Run. Run. Run._

And so he did. He ran as if the ghosts of those who lost and died all in agony and pain, forgotten and abandoned somewhere deep in the heart of the Narrows were chasing after him, like they'd drawn their claws at him, nipping him, taunting him and wanting to drag him in the darkest parts of the narrowed alleys and filthy broad streets that smelled of shit and blood to rip him apart, limb by limb.

He forced himself to run faster through the blazing pain in his muscles and pushing through the crowd of zombies walking slowly in the sideways. They would look at him then with frowns carved on their ugly faces, they would sometimes even shout and yell at him, saying words got no sense but he didn't stop to make meaning out of them. He ran to the bridge that led to the main streets of the Gotham City. He just wanted to get away from those demons, wanted to get as far away from them as possible. Having no Idea where he was going, didn't even care.

HONK!HONK! And the squeal sound of tires prompted him to glance over his right shoulder and to finally realize that he was standing in the middle of a crowded street. A fancy car strayed across the center line and hit an oncoming car. The shrill sounds of cars then blared into his ears and the swearing began.

"What the hell is this kid doing in the middle of the street?"

He stared at them, looking back at him furiously. He had just caused an accident and now people had seen him. All the other thoughts haunting him till that moment wiped away from his mind then as he tilted his head at the angry eyes diverted at him. He didn't care if they were mad; he just had suddenly this sinking feeling of joy. He got their attention. They were looking at him. If it was any other time he knew he would jump up and down with excitement. But now…now his body felt like a sheet of glass, fragile and ready to shatter into dust. The back of his head hurt and his vision was slightly blurred.

"Move out of the way you stupid boy!"

He felt nauseous through their loud voice. He had a thirst that made his throat feel drier than inside of a vacuum cleaner's dust bag and he tasted the bitter taste of blood in his mouth. Slowly those people, standing in the street, gazing at him disapprovingly turned into dark figures with no emotions, no feelings, no faces at all. In fact the whole street turned dark and gloomy all at once. The numbness somehow overwhelmed him and the universe seemed to spin around him as he looked up to the sky. Even though it was only in the middle of the day, the boy was sure for a moment that he saw the stars, far off and distant.

And then…Silence.

All he heard now was the sound of blood rushing in his head, a sound like ocean. Stars and oceans, those were the good thoughts his mother always encouraged him of thinking about at night. All the pain had faded away; he could no longer feel anything. Everything was numb and moving far away from him, the whole world seemed to be pulling away as his feet finally gave in and he fell.

 _Swirling down into the ra-bbit hole_.

* * *

WMWMWMWMW

"Oh that poor boy," Barbara Gorden cooed in her sensual tone, before turning back to his husband, " Did you talk to him, Jim?"

The young officer seemed to be lost in thought. His gray eyes, hiding behind the thick glasses, looked as though they were miles away. What happened last night was just a small example of how unsafe his city had truly become. With the tragic death of Thomas Wayne and his wife, only now people seemed to have recognized it and made such fuss about it. But Gordon knew if the police don't keep the public peace primarily, It won't take long before people fear the streets and as they fear it, they would use them less which made the city still more dangerous with more thugs and criminals running freely around.

Jim Gordon wanted to make a difference. He hadn't joined the police force for the criminal opportunities it offered, he hoped to change something. The television went on and on about how the police were investigating the cruel incident and how people had gone more worried about their own safeties. The problem with Gotham's finest was how they only saw themselves as important ones, as those who craved for safety more than the others and nobody even thought about all the other lives in the Narrows just across the bridge. Jim thought if there was supposed to be a change it should start from the Narrows. That was a place that needed more attention. But he was just one person after all, the whole department was filled with rats and dirty cops who were fed by the most dangerous mobsters in the whole city.

With a warm hand placed on his arm, he startled, turning suddenly and stared at Barbara who looked more concern than usual. She held his hand in hers for a moment and then released it as if she were unsure if he was listening to her. Smiling, he said. " Yes, yes I talked to him." He looked down, murmuring. " Told him it's going to be okay."

She reached then closer, returning his smile lovingly. " I'm sure it's going to be. You're the one who's going to make a change, Jim."

He didn't actually intend to but he found himself scoffing at that. "But Barbara I'm only one man."

"You're not alone," Her eyes clouded with tears," You know sometimes I wonder if we could ever raise a child in a city like this but then," She cupped his chin in her hands forcing him to look into her emerald-green eyes. " I look at you and see that there's still good and I'm sure there are more people like you out there." softly and sweetly, she leaned closer. "I have faith in you Jim."

He wanted to tell her it was a dangerous thing, to have faith in something-in someone that may or may not end up in disappointment. But he loved Barbara so how could he break her heart like that? And where were those good people that she believed existed, right now? what were they doing? Were they wondering about how alone they are, too ?

Jim looked deeply in her eyes and saw how they glittered with something beyond than tears or… even faith.

It was _hope._

Everybody deserved a little of it. People always wished for the things to get better one day and so they tried for it even if… they got them nowhere. They still found something to cling onto and he didn't want to disappoint her. He also wanted to have kids in this city where under the pile of filth and blood was still something valuable shinning bright. He wanted to be one of those people who presented that bright thing to his family. To the people.

That is why he didn't answer her right away and with a nod he stood up from his chair and grabbed his coat." I need to get going now, sweetheart." He said, walking to the door before turning and giving her a small smile one last time." See you at night."

"You take care of yourself, okay?"

In response, he placed a peck on the top of her head, pulling her into a tight embrace and rubbing his lips over her ear. "Always."

* * *

WMWMWMWMW

The traffic was heavier than usual when he got to the expressway, just across the bridge, plunging into the heart of the city. A little early for the rush hour, he thought. Jim noticed an unusual amount of car, all stopping behind a bright green traffic light and he slowed his car. All the shouting and yelling, screamed that something was wrong… very wrong then again _what in this city had ever been right?_

"Somebody get the kid outta the way for god's sake!"

Hearing somebody yelled as he stopped the car, Jim un-clipped his seat belt and got off the car quickly. Running between the cars and pushing through a concentrated crowd of people all talking and whispering in the middle of the street he finally made it through a clearance, his eyes falling on a small body of a boy, all bruised and bloody on the ground.

He took a quick glance at his surrounding, no body moved, nobody did anything but standing and watching. His chest tightened and deep frown covered his forehead, _what was wrong with these people?_ As he ran to the boy, knelt beside him and cradled his head to bring it up a little.

"Hey… hey boy can you hear me?"

The sensation of warm liquid on the back of the boy's head stunned him. _No, oh God no._ He thought as he looked between the crowd. His eyes shifted from one face to another as he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Somebody call an ambulance already!"

* * *

 _I'm enjoying this... are you too?_


	4. Step Three

_**3**_

 _September 20th, 1983. Between 3:00 to 4:00 PM._

 _Cracks. Cracks. Cracks. Plain. White. Walls._

Aaand… _Darkness._

Compelled into a foreign land which both fascinated and reviled. Falling into a timeless gap, where nothing was real but everything was at the same time. Darkness had surrounded him, holding him captive, scared of a freedom that was given to him. His heart beat wildly against his chest like a caged bird.

The door was open, but still wasn't allowed to go. Didn't dare to leave.

"Jack," He turned to the familiar voice. A woman was standing right behind him with auburn hair falling loosely over her shoulders. Everything about her was beautiful. Her chocolate brown eyes, her high cheek bones and long, thin, delicate nose. So soft. So sweet. So beautiful.

She must have been at some point in her life.

Before she misses a couple of front teeth to match her black eye because of how hard father had knocked her out the other day. Before she uses a crutch to walk around and do house chores cause her legs were too dead to stand on. Way before she was pushed and pushed and pushed again…

To the point of no return. Before she puts on her shabby purple raincoat, gives him a bright smile and grabs his hand for the first time and takes him outside. _**Shopping**_ , she says. She says she wants to buy some baking powder and nut chocolate to bake him something special. _**A birthday cake**_ , she beams.

 _ **A birthday cake**_ **?** he repeats. Father had gone mad last night again and his body hurts all over but he was going to have a birthday cake this morning, so it doesn't really matter if his bruised arms are too numb to tug into the jacket's sleeves. It doesn't matter if mommy has gotten too kind all of a sudden. Because she usually isn't. She would normally yell at him and tells him to leave her alone.

But he _is_ excited now. He doesn't want to lose this opportunity. It doesn't matter if he doesn't even like nut chocolate, he would still want to grab her hand and go outside with her, even if it's for a couple of hours. Somehow… strangely, it makes him all warm and _fuzzy._

But then as they leave the house he remembers something. He remembers it's really not his birthday but he doesn't say anything. He's scared to open his mouth and ruins the moment. He's afraid of her smile to go away. He doesn't want that. _No… no…_ her smile makes him want to smile even more and it rarely happens. If anything… it never happens.

They walk on the sideways first then they take the path to the busy streets. Soon, they blend with the crowd. He looks at their faces. Grim-looking strangers move as if unseeing hands drag them this way and that, pulling their eyes to one thing and then another. They respond in predictable ways, each of them with a goal to achieve for the day. He doesn't put any thought to it, he doesn't have to. They're just people. They don't matter. _He_ matters. _His mother_ does and the way she drags him the opposite direction of the flow. He doesn't wonder where they go. He doesn't ask questions. It's much easier to let someone else, someone reliable, someone you trust and you have _faith_ in, shows you the way. It's so, _so_ much easier.

They stop outside a store. It doesn't look like a bakery or a confectionery shop, though. He looks up to see the sign but the crowd pushes and suddenly he loses her warm grip. For a moment, it's colder than usual. He looks into the crowd, looking for a purple raincoat. _Her_ raincoat. But they're all black and white and there's no color. He looks back into the shop. It's a small antique shop. "Max's Antique".

 _Why would she want to go inside of an antique shop?_ He panics at the realization. She's not even there. His eyes shift to the people again. _She's not anywhere._

"Mum?" He croaks, "Mum?" People walk. People run. Brainless people pass him by like robots. But all he can think of is one word. _Abandoned._ Tears start to form in his eyes. _She has abandoned him._ She would sometimes say so when she was mad and full of hatred, she would sometimes say that. But he never believed her.

"I hate you! I hate you!" Through tears she would yell. "I never wanted you! "She would sob at nights before father comes back home, before she'll become an all good obedient wife.

 _Now she's gone_. Pupils dilated, heart racing, brain on fire. He doesn't want her gone though. _What would he do without her?_ His eyes dart between the faces. Their raincoats. _Where is the purple one? Where is the colored one? Where is that smiling face?_ Now running aimlessly, arms flapping almost comically, almost throwing up, almost feeling like a bucket of ice is poured over his head after a hot fire flaming him.

He's freezing. Almost like dying. _Is it how it is to die?_

 _Not exactly…_

 _Cracks. Cracks. Cracks. White. Plain. Walls._

Blinding white fluorescent lights gazing down in his eyes.

* * *

WMWMWMWMW

"CT Scans demonstrate several rib bruises no real fracture. Most of the bruises are relatively old and the wound on his cheek didn't need any stiches but as of the wound at the back of his head, it's severely stitched, right now. We also ran a few test and fortunately there's no concussion—" The doctor looked up from his clipboard then flashed a quick smile. "Other than that, no vital injuries."

Gordon let out a deep sigh of relief, fixing his glasses, he asked, "When is he gonna wake up?"

"Anytime now." The doctor answered reluctantly before writing something else on his notes," You want to talk to him?"

"Of course." Replied Gordon briefly." God knows what's happened to him."

The doctor stared at him with his dark eyes, before pulling him over and whispering in a low tone," Officer, you do realize that… this…" He motioned to his clipboard disapprovingly."this isn't something out of the ordinary. "

Blinking in confusion, "What'd you mean?" he asked.

"Just the other day they brought another kid here severely injured, he'd lost a significant amount of blood during a shooting," Said the doctor dryly, a deep frown slightly forming on his forehead." I mean… living in the Narrows… these kids… their safety's not guaranteed. You're a police officer, yes? So… you must have seen all kinds of reports in your department. Missing kids, wounded kids... dead… kids … "By then Gordon knew where he was getting at and in that moment he felt more embarrassed than ever.

"I mean what the heck are you exactly doing down the department officer? " The doctor hissed through his teeth then, looking at him with fury. "I have served in Gotham General Hospital for nearly twenty years now and I have never seen anything like this before. They brought a body of a thirteen year old girl the other day, raped and beaten up… and she didn't even make it." He blamed him. of course he did. Gordon blamed himself too. Who else people could turn to these days when the police was busy making deals with the mob. The police that was supposed to be a symbol of safety and peace.

The doctor raised his hand and pointed at himself, still glaring at him. "As a doctor, I try my best to do the best I can but what _are_ you doing? What is your responsibility, officer?"

"I understand—"

"No… you don't. You _do not_ sir." The doctor cut him off. "Death is the best case scenario for these kids. They have no future. They either grow up to become criminals or… sooner or later you find their dead bodies down the river way before they hit puberty."

Doctor's eyes locked with Gordon and a long uncomfortable silence followed his words. Although it only lasted for not more than a few seconds Gordon felt as if was going to last for eternity as he tried to stay steady under the doctor's heavy and blameful gaze. When a nurse called from down the hallway, Gordon was relieved the doctor turned away and looked over his shoulder.

"Doctor Fletcher, he's awake."

"You can go, talk to him now." Gordon nodded at the doctor, swiftly walking past him before his arm was grabbed by the man yet again." For the sake of this city officer, I hope you do something good. "

Gordon knew there was a far good distance between wanting to do something good and actually doing it, that was why he didn't say anything in return, he just hung his head and quickly walked into the room that the nurse had shown him.

* * *

WMWMWMWMW

Forcing his eyes to stay open, the boy stared up at the ceiling. Then his eyes traveled along the top of the walls around the room, idly taking in the plain white walls that had surrounded him. an incessant beeping noise of machines made his head throb. The antiseptic smell that stung in his nostrils told him he could only be in one place. A hospital.

His heart started pounding again. _What if father finds him?_ he squeezed his eyes shut at the pain that overcame his chest, it felt like someone had parked an eighteen wheeler on it. He struggled to lift his arm as he stared at the tubes that were pumping something into his veins. His eyes were to heavy to open, too tired, too numb. but he wanted to get away before he _found_ out. _He_ would be furious if he found out.

His eyes almost shot open wide the moment he saw the doorknob slowly turning, the door painstakingly slow to creak open. He held his breath and his blood ran cold as he saw a man in police uniform standing in the door frame.

His stomach turned and his body started shaking, his eyes darting around the room in panic, in search of something, _anything_ , to protect himself. The man must have sensed the fear in his eyes because he raised his hands and slowed his pace.

"Hey… hey… it's okay." His tone disbelievingly gentle, it almost matched his calm features as he got closer, " I'm just here to talk to you."

He watched him in silence, his breaths shallow and quiet. The man in uniform, gave him an unsure smile as if he didn't know how the boy would react. He looked at him through narrowed eyes, trying hard to remain unfazed. Still though he knew it was impossible to hide the loud sound of his heart beat. He tried not to stare, only gave quick glances to the man's light brown hair and mustache. Those thick glasses his long and thin face gave him an almost funny look. If his chest didn't hurt so much he would have laughed, then again he didn't find it wise to make the guy angry, not in his current state anyway, he couldn't run like this.

Carefully the police officer sat at his bedside, eyeing him for a second before giving him another smile. "What's your name boy?"

The boy regarded the man carefully. He sounded so sympathetic, so genuine in his concern. _But who was he to judge?_ All he'd ever learnt in life was to never trust men in uniforms. He just stared at the man without responding to the question.

Another short silence followed. The man raised his hand to his glasses and sighed deeply. "I'm Jim Gordon. I… I'd like to help you." He gave him another warm smile. That made him wonder how could people smile so easily? He and everyone else he knew always had a difficult time doing that—" You don't have to be scared. You're safe here. I promise."

The last sentence struck him. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds, their eyes steady, not moving. No even a millimeter, a force passing through them.

Wordless communication.

"Max." The name rolled on his tongue tastelessly. Of course he wasn't going to give him his real name, but he ought to give him something.

"'s that your name?" the boy nodded. "How old are you, Max?"

"Seven… eight…" He wasn't completely sure. He knew he'd just passed a birthday. But that didn't really matter. It was just number, so any number would have sufficed.

"Where are your parents?" The police officer- Jim- asked again.

He considered the question for a moment. _Parents?_ and then for the first time in that few minutes, he looked away from man's grey eyes and his eyes started to burn with fresh tears but he blinked them away. _Parents?_ the more he repeated the word in his mind the less bittersweet it sounded, less sad even,… funnier.

"Dead." He responded shyly, not even looking up.

"Do you…" Thoughtfully asked Jim, his tone still soothing,"Do you remember who did this to you Max?"

He looked up, certain that his eyes were still moist as he shook his head in response.

"You don't?" The police officer fell quiet and studied the boy for another long moment. "Doctor said you're staying here for the night. " He looked deeply into the boy's light chocolate brown eyes, his tone and expression conveyed something unfamiliar. Something he had never felt before. Something he couldn't quite comprehend." And I want you to know that you're not alone, Max. Okay? "

It didn't matter what he called him. _Max, Jack…_ whatever his name was. What mattered was that the police officer, Jim, was reassuring him. And the thing was that the boy wanted to believe in his words, he desperately wanted to hold on to them. That he didn't have to be scared, that he was safe that he was...not alone. He needed to but— _how could he have faith in them? How was this any different from the time that mother got him into believing that he was safe and then abandoned him in the crowd? weren't all these people ... the same?_

* * *

Have you _ah_ … have you ever been to Arkham? _Hmm… no?_ well let me take you there sometime, see that… _fai-th_ doesn't really prove _any-thing_. And the _fun-ny_ thing is that the people... they think my jokes are _bad_.

* * *

 _Thanks for all the follows, favorites and review. keep it coming, let me know what you think!_


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